“All the memories make me want to go back there, back there – All the memories, how can we make it back there, back there – I want to be there again … “
-Weezer, “Memories” (video after post)
This year’s Firetrails 50 was all about memories, and paying back a couple of debts of gratitude.
Most importantly was the race itself, which has always held a special place in my heart. It was my very first 50-miler, and I was virtually intoxicated by all the joy, pain, and just plain craziness to be found in the world of ultrarunning. Two years later, it was also the site of an existential crisis about what I really wanted from this sport – and by extension, from myself – and whether or not I really had the inner fire to pursue the 100-mile ambition I had somehow latched onto several years earlier.
Since that debut Firetrails race pre-dated my website, and the existential struggle took place before I was accustomed to carrying a camera with me, I felt like I had never given this race the accolades it deserves. I have all kinds of great memories from this event, so I wanted to go back there again, giving it the proper R&R race report treatment this time around.
The second item of overdue appreciation involved the footwear I used: my VivoBarefoot Evos, which have been through the ultrarunning gauntlet with me quite a bit this year. I wore them for my ill-fated 100K this spring, and for my 50-mile night of pacing at Lake Tahoe this summer. However, each of those races had more compelling storylines than what shoes I happened to be wearing, so I purposely kept them out of the conversation – and Firetrails seemed like a great time to make up for those oversights.
So that’s how we’ll set the stage for our story: a somewhat seasoned ultrarunner revisiting one of the most meaningful events in his life, with minimal shoes and maximal gratitude. And … cue darkness:
Race Directors Carl Anderson (as usual, click any of these pictures to enlarge) and his wife, ultrarunning legend Ann Trason, know a thing or two about ultras, and there are several aspects of this race that simply couldn’t be designed any better. The first is apparent right off the bat: even though the race starts in darkness, most of the first two miles are on a wide, smooth, asphalt bike path. Some runners wear headlamps for this section, but they’re largely unnecessary.
The smooth bike path shortly gives way to equally smooth fire roads that wind their way up and up into the pink/orange sunrise …
… and by the time you see first daylight, you’re on top of the ridgeline to enjoy distant views of the lake you started from a few miles ago.
Firetrails is a race of patience; it’s easy to feel great on the long, gentle, tree-lined descents of the first 10 miles, but it’s also easy to get yourself into trouble if you’re not smartly conservative here. It’s best to just stay comfortable, enjoy the sights, and settle into a baseline effort you can sustain for several more hours. In fact …
… in my mind, Firetrails doesn’t even begin until you leave the Big Bear aid station at mile 11 and hit your first stretch of single track. A short, steep climb is followed by a longer, steeper descent where too many people try to be heroes by flying down at a pace that will tear their quads up. I always get passed by tons of runners on this stretch, and end up passing at least 75% of them back later in the race.
A couple of miles later, the single track bottoms out and expands into an extremely gentle path inside Redwood Regional Park. The air is cool, the morning is quiet, the trees are breathtaking, and it’s early enough in the race that you can still appreciate it all, even though you’re beginning a very slight climb. This is one of the most scenic stretches of the entire course, but not exactly the most accurately signed …
…take, for instance, this sign marking “Trail’s End” that you pass by with at least 35 more miles of trails still to run.
Then there’s this sign, instructing you not to exceed 5MPH. It’s at the base of a steep pitch of road, so I felt no shame about walking most of it …
… until I got to the Skyline Gate aid station at mile 15 and heard the volunteers yelling, Hey – pick it up! This is a running race! That’s not a knock against the volunteers, all of whom were amazing; it speaks more to the fact that many of the aid station personnel are veteran Bay Area ultrarunners themselves, so the bar for “hill sympathy” out here is set frighteningly high.
Leaving Skyline Gate you encounter the longest, prettiest section of single track on the course heading into Sibley Preserve, which one of my training partners accurately described as Jurassic Park on our muddy run here last spring. Eventually you pass a couple of patches where the canyon trail loses its tree cover …
… and you get a glimpse of a nearby hillside that strikes you as really beautiful – at least until you realize, “Wait – we have to go up and over that thing soon.”
Before you do that, however, you have to climb out of the canyon you’re in, which is one of the steepest pitches on the course.
You also have to pass through the central portion of Sibley Preserve, where the footing is very technical with extensive root and rock exposure. This was the first time I became conscious of the Evos I was wearing, only because I had to pay more attention and “pick my line” through the trail like I would on a mountain bike. Speaking of my shoes …
… this is Bryon Powell, a blogger extraordinaire and super-fast ultrarunner who I heard approaching me from behind, because he kept telling the guy alongside him how overweight and out of shape he’s been lately. (There are some things I really wish I could unhear.) He eventually left me in the dust, but before he did, we spent several miles talking about minimalist footwear, barefoot running, and the prospects of this small niche finding long-term success in the ultrarunning community.
Our talk was actually very similar to discussions I had with at least 4 or 5 other runners on the course at Firetrails – and I noticed one major distinction between this race and my springtime ultra in moccasins. Back then, I was greeted almost unanimously with a, Whoa! What the heck are you wearing? Why are you doing that? reaction, but last weekend it was more like, How long have you been doing that? or, How do your races now compare to those in regular shoes?, or How hard is it to adjust your running style? In other words, the whole minimalist thing seems to have gone from a freak absurdity to an intellectual curiosity, at least in my limited opinion polling. But I have to think that’s a good sign.
(Meanwhile, back at the race …)
Mile 21 brings you to Tilden Park, up the face of the hill you stared at from the Sibley trails. This is where you’ll ultimately reach the high point of the course, with awesome views to the east …
… and the most beautiful city in the world in the distance to the west. The only thing that detracts from the view is knowing that you’ll be in this exact same spot about 8 miles from now …
… but only after going four miles downhill to the turnaround point of the course.
This stretch, with its steep downhill grade, large rocks, and loose footing, was one of the trickiest parts of the course for me in my Evos. I had to slow down a lot more than I wanted, and this section seemed to go on forever – and no, the fact that it’s all downhill doesn’t make that a good thing.
Eventually, though, you reach the Lone Oak aid station, which is a welcome sight because 1) it’s the turnaround point of the race, and 2) it’s actually at mile 26, so you’re already more than halfway done. Only by one mile, but trust me – it makes a huge mental difference.
Last time I was here, this section of the race nearly devastated me: the 4-mile climb back from the turnaround point, as the day becomes warm and the miles start to take their toll. Seeing it again a few years later – and with the mental strength gained from several more ultras under my belt – I saw it for what it is: just another long hill on another long journey on another long day. And this time around, it wasn’t nearly such a big deal.
I guess what I’ve learned over the years is that these places I fear in ultras are also the same ones I’m most thankful for later on. If the trails were flat, or gentle, or easier to conquer than I anticipated, they wouldn’t mean nearly as much afterward. So the best thing you can do is to embrace the suffering as well as the pleasure, and commit yourself to nothing other than fully experiencing the moment.
And if the climb doesn’t teach you that lesson, perhaps this Zen labyrinth can help you out. It’s right there at the top of the hill …
… so you can reflect on how far you’ve climbed again, while remembering that it’s all just a part of your longer journey.
(This is getting kinda deep for an ultra report, huh? And yes, it’s getting quite lengthy. I’ll try to stay focused from now on.)
The Zen climb to enlightenment rewards you with a long, steady downhill stretch back through Tilden Park …
… and into the refreshingly shaded single track of Sibley Preserve again. Remember when I said this course rewards patience? If you’ve paced yourself well, this is where you can really begin to reel people in …
… and even pick up your pace under the smooth, gently descending trails of Redwood Park. As beautiful as this area is on your first time through, it’s about 10 times as wonderful when you’re closing in on mile 40 while feeling good and keeping a steady pace. You can’t get too carried away, though …
... because there are still several challenging climbs that await you in the last six miles of the course. This one eventually tops out with a beautiful overlook …
… that initiates an extended downhill plunge into the Lake Chabot area.
This long, sweeping downhill was something of a delight for me. Given that I was wearing my Evos, I couldn’t really hammer the pace and maintain proper form too well, but I was able to maintain the effort I had kept for the majority of the day – which is something a lot of other people were struggling with. Consequently, a ton of people came back to me on this stretch of fire road …
… and even more on this lush single track that seems to get prettier the closer it gets to the lake.
Of course, even when you see the water, you’re not quite out of the woods yet …
… as no fewer than 6 steep climbs await you in the last three miles that meander around the shoreline of the lake. By this time, your physical pain is quite real, but the mental pain starts floating away …
… because you know the finish line is nearby, complete with a full-service all-you-can-eat barbecue to enjoy alongside your fellow runners.
My final time was 8:57, which is virtually identical to my very first ultra here several years ago. It’s about 12 minutes slower than my PR on this course, a result that’s somewhat tough to attribute. I’m probably less fit than the last time I was here, and – although I refuse to officially acknowledge this - I’m a few years older now. You also might have noticed that I took a fair number of pictures along the way, which probably tacked on a few extra seconds here and there.
One thing I don’t attribute it to is my shoes. One of the most common questions I received on course was “Doesn’t that hurt?”, and honestly … yeah, OK, my feet hurt a little bit towards the end of the race. But it’s an ultra, for crying out loud – if there wasn’t any pain, it wouldn’t be worth the price of admission. And the discomfort I had in my feet wasn’t any more severe than the pain in the rest of my body, and it wasn’t the weak link in my race time being slower than past outings. I had to run differently, but as a result I was able to pace myself very consistently – which is always a great way to finish any endurance event.
What’s more noteworthy is that the pain that I feel with the Evos – primarily foot muscle soreness and mild impact tenderness – is far better than the pain I used to have in regular shoes. I don’t get blisters anymore, I don’t have hot spots where my feet are confined within the uppers, and I don’t have callouses that rub themselves raw over the course of several hours. All things considered, my feet feel better after an ultra in Evos than they ever did in traditional shoes.
(It’s also very likely that much of this comfort and protection is thanks to my Drymax socks, which go with my minimalist footwear like peanut butter and jelly: it's like they were just made to be together. They've become mandatory accessories for me in all my ultras.)
Whatever the case might be, you can be certain that I wasn’t too preoccupied with my overall finish time at that point. All I really wanted to do was sit in the grass and soak it all in for a while … so that’s exactly what I did.
There may some more things to say about this race at some point, but for the time being, I think I’ve said more than enough. I came back to Firetrails hoping to recapture some of the great memories I had from my early days of ultras, and to make some indelible new memories along the way. In that regard, I consider the day an overwhelming success – and I’d love to be there anytime again.
**
Weezer, "Memories" (click to play):
*See other race reports under tab at top of page
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"Everybody get dangerous, everybody get dangerous ... Boo-ya!” - Weezer, “Everybody Get Dangerous” (video after post)
** I guess if you’re entering a race named after the devil, there’s bound to be a bit of danger involved.
This year, it seemed like harbingers of doom were lurking around every corner and upon every hillside of the Diablo 50. Ultimately, I managed to fight through all of them and finish the race, but in some ways I’m still not sure how I did it.
The most clear and present danger that faced all the runners was the heat, which was oppressive from the very start. I knew it was a bad omen when I walked out to my car in San Francisco at 5:30 AM wearing a sweatshirt and shorts, and thought to myself, “Gosh, I feel pretty warm – I must be overdressed.” From there, it only got worse, with reports of 95 degrees from various locations on the mountain during the day.
There’s much more to say, of course … but there are also a ton of pictures to go through – so that’s the way I’ll tell the rest of the story.
View from the start line. Both the 50-mile race and the marathon were sold out, which brings up an interesting point: chances are, if you host an event that’s guaranteed to make people suffer, there’s no shortage of masochistic, obsessive-compulsive idiots who will pay money for it. Who says there aren’t any recession-proof business models anymore?
On one of the first climbs of the day, I got an early glimpse of some folks I’d see more of later on: fellow bloggers Gretchen and Rick, plus a dude (in the red shirt) by the name of Graham Cooper. You may know him better as the winner of the 2006 Western States 100. What was a guy like that doing so far back in the pack? Read on.
The first hour is spent climbing a narrow single track trail to the top of Eagle Peak – which is an impressive 2000’ climb, but only serves as a warm-up hill during the first 8-mile push to the Mt Diablo summit.
The girl in the tank top is Gretchen, with whom I shared a few minutes of the first climb. She and I first met each other last year in classic boy-meets-girl fashion: boy takes a picture of girl’s rear end, boy posts picture to his website, girl writes to boy and says “That was me!” It’s the kind of thing that happens every day, right?
We kept in touch by e-mail, and this year I finally got to meet her, um, face to face, so to speak. She’s extremely friendly, plus a great writer and runner to boot – it’s no wonder we get along. (And no, I’m not linking to her picture from last year … but it’s still in my race report on the right sidebar if any perverts out there want to search for it.)
Incidentally, the guy next to Gretchen is a newbie ultrarunner who took part in the following conversation with us …
Gretchen: How’s your training going for Western States?
Me: Pretty good, I think – I’m right where I want to be.
New guy: What’s Western States?
It sounds crazy, but I found his question kind of refreshing. It’s nice to know that the whole world doesn’t revolve around the WS100, like it often seems to at this time of year. Then again, by this time next spring, that guy may be as crazy as the rest of us. Insanity is contagious in this sport.
Eventually we reached the summit for the first time – but of course, even when you’re at the top, you’re not done climbing …
… because you still have to climb the stairs to the top.
As you’d expect, the views from the top are killer. San Francisco is visible here in the background at right-center.
I happened to reach the observation tower at the same time as Rick, so we exchanged pictures. There used to be a time when I could keep up with Rick, but not anymore – he’s simply too fast. So even though I bid him farewell for the day, I was still feeling pretty good about things – but keep in mind that the race was less than one-fifth over.
Descending from the summit, there’s a tricky balance you have to strike between enjoying the breathtaking vistas, but not straying too far off the narrow trail that hugs the side of the hill. One misstep through here could ruin your whole day.
Here’s all you really need to know about Diablo: it’s tempting to look at the course profile and think, “Sure, it has a lot of uphill, but you can make up the time going down.” Then you get to trails like this, which drop precipitously downward for several miles at a time, and you feel your quads blowing up with every step. In other words, the uphills are brutal, but the downhills can be even worse. Welcome to Diablo.
Another shot of the first descent from the summit, where you can see the trail continuing to wind downward in the distance. What you can’t see are the thousand or so black flies that decided to swarm me right as I took this picture. They would prove to be a problem for the entire day; in some places, it felt like we were running through a hailstorm – except, of course, that real hail isn’t nearly as disgusting as being pelted with hundreds of little bugs. But maybe that’s just me.
You know how when you’re on a roller coaster, and you’re cresting the first big hill, and the track is so steep that you can’t even see it below your cart? That’s what this fire road is like. The first hill you see here plunges downward faster than you can say California Screamin'. Have I made my point about the downhills yet?
I eventually made my way into a very pretty 5-mile loop, just as the heat of the day was taking a stranglehold on the race. There’s an aid station tent at the beginning and end of this loop; after the race, one of the RDs (Sarah) told me that the temperature in the shade of the tent was 90 degrees.
Have I mentioned before that I like cows? Even though they're off in the distance (under the tree - click to enlarge), you know they'd have to be part of the race report. These guys were smart enough to seek out the little bit of shade that was available – but not all the hoofed creatures were quite so lucky …
I can only guess this is the “Let’s ride our horses on the hottest day of the year” club. Maybe this isn’t a big deal for the horses – but with the amount of sweating I was doing in struggling with the heat, I kind of felt sorry for them. Of course, they weren’t the ones paying money to do this – so who’s the bigger fool?
Rock City is always a welcome sight, as it roughly marks the halfway point of the race. The trouble is, it always much farther away than it seems. From this point on the fire road, you think, “Hey – there’s Rock City! I must be getting close!” And then 30 minutes later, you wonder why in the heck you don’t seem to be getting any closer.
Normally, this rock would be covered with climbers and picnickers enjoying a sunny afternoon. When it’s 95 degrees outside, not so much.
Leaving the Rock City aid station begins a 6-mile out and back (12 miles total) stretch which is a nice place to regain your legs. The trail starts out shady, smooth, and gently downhill. Of course, you’ll have to come all the way back up these trails on the return trip – but that’s a detail you try to ignore on the long descent.
And since this is Diablo, just as you’re getting comfortable, another huge hill is always just up the trail.
The turnaround point is somewhere down underneath those trees. Remember those roller coaster downhills? They’re not limited to the first half of the race. Also by this point, the shade has vanished, and the heat was becoming overbearing.
In fact, even the snakes were seeking out some shade. If you’re keeping track at home, thus far we have a devil mountain with murderous climbs, infernal heat, swarming pests, and now serpents. Good times!
I first met these two guys early in the race: That’s Graham Cooper on the left, and Erik Skaden on the right. Last year, they did this race as a training run, and were co-winners while barely breaking a sweat. This year, they happened to do a 200-mile bike ride on the day before Diablo. At the mile 31 aid station, they were at least considerate enough to look tired for the rest of us – but by the end of the day, they would end up passing all but a few runners.
Many years ago, after watching Jack Nicklaus dominate the 1965 Masters, golfer Bobby Jones remarked that “Nicklaus is playing a game with which I’m not familiar.” That’s how I feel about these two: they’re doing a kind of training with which I’m not familiar. If one of these guys wins Western States this June, come look at this picture to see where the foundation was laid.
(On a related note, I totally respect those guys … but they’re completely screwing up the sympathy meter for the rest of us. I was going to start this post with some remark about having dead legs from a regular training week – but when I heard about the 200 mile bike ride, I didn’t even bother. Basically, none of us can complain with a straight face anymore. This is a bad development for me.)
After returning to Rock City, we begin a long, grueling climb towards the second summit trip of the day. I had been gradually slowing up to here, and on this climb, the wheels completely fell off. I was feeling lightheaded, and could barely muster enough energy to maintain forward progress, nevermind actually trying to jog any of it. I was totally and absolutely drained – and there were still 13 miles to go.
By the time I made it to the Juniper aid station at mile 40, I felt like a dead man walking. This was the first time I have ever contemplated dropping from a race, and the notion was only dispelled by a simple calculation that it might take me just as long to wait for a ride as it would to simply walk myself down the dang mountain.
Before I could go downhill, there was still about a mile and a half to the summit … which took me almost 40 minutes. I think I jogged about 10 steps of it. The trail seemed pretty merciless at this stage.
Finally, I reached the summit for the second time, where a tourist volunteered to take my picture. Since the shot is only from the waist up, you can’t see my legs quivering below. That’s probably a good thing.
Here’s more Diablo charm for you: the last 8 miles are unsupported, and billed as a downhill segment. But see that little hill below? We have to go up and over it as part of the “downhill”” portion. However, as I indicated before, uphill or downhill really didn’t matter at this point – the final miles were going to be painful any way you approached them.
I tried to distract myself with taking in the views for my final trip of the day, and was even able to break into a minor shuffle on the single track descent. I wouldn’t even call it running – my average pace was over 15 min/mile going downhill – but I was making steady progress to the finish, and I knew I’d ultimately get there.
One last look back at the summit on my way down. You know how former Alcatraz prisoners would sometimes return to San Francisco and stare across the bay for hours on end, contemplating their experience there? Seeing the Diablo tower one last time reminded me of that story. I was definitely in a weary state of mind.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been more happy to see a finish line as I was at the end of this race. Wendell (the other RD) was there to shake my hand, and I immediately sought out the nearest picnic table to collapse onto. It was a very long time before I had the strength to get off the table and walk around.
Rick had already been there for an hour, and he hung around long enough to take one more picture. I’m not keeping up with him in races anymore, but as you can tell, I’m much faster than him when it comes to putting away a slice of pizza. So there.
In the aftermath of this race, I wasn’t sure how to feel about my performance. On one hand, I ran a few minutes faster than last year, on what felt like an even warmer day, when a lot of other runners turned in slower than usual times. On the other, I crashed harder than almost any other time I can remember, and that’s an experience I’d rather not go through ever again.
What I keep coming back to is the lesson I learned at this race a year ago: that ultras are meant to hurt. They’re meant to batter your body and break your spirit and test to see if you can keep going when there’s no rational justification for doing so. There might be a bit of danger in doing so, but it’s generally not life-threatening or otherwise catastrophic – consequently, it’s the kind of danger that everyone can appreciate.
At Diablo, things got a little more dangerous than I had bargained for - but in the long run, that’s what makes it a truly memorable race.
**
I’ve been digging up some strange videos lately – first it was the Spanish language Metallica concert clip, and now this one featuring the introductory song lyrics. It’s some random dude’s home mash-up of action movies, but it actually goes very well with the music. If Weezer ever makes an official video for this song, I’ll post it here – but in the meantime, enjoy this very cool homemade version.
